


we can do it for the rush

by priorviolets



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Coming In Pants, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sexual Repression, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priorviolets/pseuds/priorviolets
Summary: “Can anyone else pin you like this?” Byleth asks, and Dimitri can almost hear the tilt of her head, the alien shine in her eyes.“No,” he whispers, desperate to keep the hunger out of his voice as he struggles and sweats in her grip. “Just...just you.”[Byleth is stronger than Dimitri - he learns this the hard way.]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 240





	we can do it for the rush

It’s the unmistakable sound of a spear shattering on the ground that pulls Dimitri’s attention to the training grounds. He would know that sound anywhere, even in his sleep—but how strange it is to hear it coming from someone else.

Some part of him had already expected Byleth to be the culprit, and when he peeks around the door, his suspicion is correct: there she is, blinking down at the broken spear with that same blankly curious look Dimitri has become so fond of. Feeling that familiar warmth in his chest now, he could almost kick himself; during that long darkness where he couldn’t see anything but the past, he had missed looking at her. 

Byleth lifts her head and catches his eye. Her hair is piled atop her head in a wild bun, damp with sweat along her forehead that she wipes with the back of her hand. “Oops,” she says, her voice a flat line. 

Dimitri makes an earnest effort not to look at her midriff, fails. “Are you all right? I heard a clatter.” 

“I’m all right,” she says, “but the spear isn’t.” 

Dimitri smiles. “I’ve killed many a spear in my time as well.” 

“Does it ever get easier?” 

Was that a joke? Yes, there it is—a quirk at the corner of Byleth’s mouth. Dimitri huffs out a laugh. “No. It will haunt you for the rest of your days.” 

“Pity.” 

A dark joke, but somehow comforting, like a shared secret. 

Byleth picks up the bisected spear and props it awkwardly against the wall. “You look well today. Did you sleep?” 

“I did, thank you.” And then, “The medicine is helping.” 

Byleth smiles, and Dimitri’s stomach flips over. “I’m glad to hear that. Truly.” 

Hiding his bashfulness, Dimitri clears his throat and turns his attention to the broken spear, feeling like its mirror image.

“Come closer,” Byleth says. “I want to look at you.” 

Like a moth to light, he obeys, feeling foolish as her unreadable eyes sweep over him. Byleth hums softly to herself before lifting up the hem of his shirt to observe his stomach, and Dimitri flushes hot with shock. “Professor, what are you…?”

“Your wound looks healed,” Byleth murmurs, conspiratorial. “Hm.” 

Right. The wound. 

She lowers his shirt and pats it back into place. “Fight me.” 

Dimitri splutters, articulate as ever. “Fight—now? Right here?” 

“Unless you have a better location in mind.” Byleth reaches up to pull off Dimitri’s cloak, letting it puddle onto the floor at their feet. “Do you?” 

“I—no, I suppose I don’t.” 

“Good.” 

He’s blushing down into his chest as Byleth pulls his heavy wool sweater up over his head until he’s standing there in his undershirt—he’s thought of this many times, to his great shame, but never under circumstances like  _ this _ . 

“No lances,” Byleth says. 

Dimitri’s eye widens. “Then what will we use?” 

“You have hands, don’t you?” 

Dumbfounded, Dimitri just ogles at her, but Byleth’s face is stone-cold serious. “Professor, I—please know that I truly admire you, and that you’re a woman of incredible ideas, but this is not one of them.” 

“I disagree. It’s a very good idea.”

And she attacks. 

The only thing that keeps Dimitri from being barreled into by her is pure muscle memory, and he sidesteps at the very last second, whirling around to face her. “Professor, please—!” 

“What?” Byleth’s cheeks are pink, her eyes flashing with something Dimitri thinks might be anger. “Why do you hesitate?” 

Dimitri is breathless with embarrassment. “Because this is—forgive me, but it’s a little out of nowhere, don’t you think?” 

And Byleth says, “We haven’t sparred in five years.” 

Dimitri sobers at once, taking a deep breath to steady himself. There’s a tension on the air that says  _ I missed you _ , but neither of them will speak it aloud. 

“All right,” he relents. “Just for a little while, okay?” 

Byleth’s eyes brighten; like this, she looks girlish, deceptively sweet in a way that makes Dimitri feel weak. “Whoever pins the other first wins.” 

“Pins? You mean to the ground or—” 

But Byleth is already coming at him, faster than he remembered her being, and locks her arm under his shoulder with such force that he feels his hand go numb in her grip. A swift foot kicks out behind his knee, and he goes down with a hard thump; he swears the walls shake at the impact.

It happens so fast he can’t make sense of it. Byleth is hovering over him, her eyes glowing with an animal excitement he recognizes in himself. He gazes up at her, speechless. 

“That was easy,” Byleth says, smiling that alien smile of hers.

In spite of himself, Dimitri huffs with frustration. “You haven’t pinned me yet, have you?” 

“I don’t want the fight to be over that quickly.” 

The taunt alights something in Dimitri’s chest, and he spins around to take her by the ankles. Her center of gravity is too low for the attack to floor her, but she wobbles enough for him to break her balance and tackle her middle, his arms looping roughly around her hips. Byleth lets out a wild laugh, the sound unlike her, and before he knows it, she’s rolling him easily over her shoulder, flipping him onto the ground so hard it knocks the wind out of his chest. 

“What on earth—” Dimitri marvels up at her, both parts awed and frustrated. “Byleth, how are you doing this—” 

Byleth sets a foot to the center of Dimitri’s chest, keeping him in place with alarming ease. “Stop holding back and see.” 

“I’m  _ not _ …!” 

Genuine surprise flashes across Byleth’s eyes, and Dimitri takes advantage of the opening and pulls the ankle situated on his chest, stealing her footing out from under her. She goes down with a yelp, and Dimitri catches her before she hits the floor, holding her up with both arms atop him. 

She stares down at him, her hair falling out of her bun and raining down onto his face. “This isn’t holding back?” she taunts. “You caught me.” 

Dimitri is about to protest, but is stopped short when Byleth throws her weight to the side, catching a leg behind his knees to crank him over onto his stomach. Her arm latches around his chest as she takes him into a chokehold, and all Dimitri can do is stare in unseeing shock down at the floor as the warmth and weight of Byleth’s body presses down into him.

“Or maybe I just got stronger,” she muses into his ear. “What do you think?” 

Her breath is hot against his flushed skin; when he struggles up against her, he can feel her breasts pressing into his back when she leans down to pin him harder onto the ground. Something heated stirs in him, and he curses it away into some hidden part of himself, that wanting place he can never look at directly. 

“Answer me,” Byleth says softly. 

“Yes,” Dimitri gasps out. “You’re—you’re stronger, yes.” 

“Are you giving up?” 

Goddess, her thighs—he can feel how they squeeze around his middle, so fierce he can’t even break their hold on his waist. Sweat drips from his forehead as he groans and writhes beneath her. “I-I’m not giving up, I just—can’t move.” 

“Hm?” 

“I can’t move,” Dimitri repeats on a whisper, and there’s that stirring again below his belly when Byleth’s weight forces his hips to grind down onto the floor. A moment’s panic washes over him when he feels it—yes, he’s hard, shamefully so, panting into the floor like an animal. 

“I feel like you’re not even trying,” Byleth taunts, her voice low and melodic as she ruffles his hair. Dimitri’s eyes close at the touch, his lips parting in something soundless and adoring when she keeps her fingers tangled there. “But you’re shaking like you’re exhausted…” 

Dimitri’s face burns with humiliation against the cold floor as his mind wanders: Byleth flipping him onto his back, yanking at the clothing between them until only the most needed space is bare, sinking her heat down over him until he’s sobbing into her unforgiving mouth. 

“Can anyone else pin you like this?” Byleth asks, and Dimitri can almost hear the tilt of her head, the shine in her eyes. 

“No,” he whispers, desperate to keep the hunger out of his voice as he struggles and sweats in her grip. “Just...just you.” 

“Just me. Hm.” Byleth keeps playing with his hair, stroking absently along his scalp; the touch is strangely tender compared to the brutal hold she has him locked in, and Dimitri could almost whimper from it, could reach back blindly and beg her to kiss him. Trembling with shame, Dimitri lets her grind him harder beneath her strength, and hisses between his teeth at the much-needed friction it gives him as his cock strains painfully against the floor. 

“I like that,” Byleth says, as simple and clear as the wind. “That it’s just me.” 

Her arm tightens in its chokehold, and Dimitri bows his head as a rush of something wonderful and awful begins mounting between his legs. The sheer relief of someone being stronger than him, being able to be pressed and contained,  _ kept _ . “Byleth—Professor, I need to—” 

“Admit your defeat?” 

Dimitri nods dumbly as his mouth falls open in a silent cry. He can smell the heat of Byleth’s skin, feel the heaviness of her breasts upon his back—if he focuses hard enough, he can feel a warmth between her thighs clamped around him, and how her breath seems to skip over itself, like she’s excited too— 

“Dimitri,” Byleth murmurs, and pulls his hair in her fist. “Come on.” 

Before he knows what’s happening, Dimitri’s body releases in a sharp, sudden wave that has him gasping onto the hardwood; to save face, he plays it off as though her chokehold is what does it, some pain or pulled muscle that would warrant such noise. But his body knows otherwise: it’s all Byleth’s doing.

When it passes and he’s nothing more than limp limbs, the guilt rushes over him so fiercely it’s almost paralyzing. 

Byleth releases her chokehold and rewards him with a pleasant pat on the head. “I won,” she says, a faint singsong before getting to her feet. 

Dimitri forces away his tremors and curls his knees under him, feigning checking himself for bruises to put off having to stand. “Good job,” he says weakly. “You...you fought well.” 

Byleth says nothing, but her keen eyes are fixed on him with a look he can’t read. Her cheeks are flushed, her shirt rumpled, her hair tumbling out of its bun. 

They look like they just…

“We should do this again,” she says, her voice low like a secret. And then she’s turning on her heel, and leaving. 

Dimitri watches her go. 

Her hands—just then, they had been trembling. 


End file.
